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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019252">In My Feelings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemefahoh/pseuds/elemefahoh'>elemefahoh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Saves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jasper Hale Powers, M/M, Magical Jaskier | Dandelion, Misunderstandings, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Slow Burn, Triss Merigold Ships It, Truly I cannot emphasise what idiots these men are, Twilight References</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:40:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemefahoh/pseuds/elemefahoh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier held his hands up in front of him. “Alright, Geralt, alright! I’m not a wizard!”</p><p>“Then what—”</p><p>“I’m an emotional manipulator!”</p><p>There was a pause. Geralt stared at Jaskier, until Jaskier blushed. “Well, I mean— I mean I have a power…this ability. I am able, to, um, sense emotions.”</p><p>Another pause. “You can sense emotions,” Geralt repeated, nonplussed.</p><p>“Yes! I can sort of, feel them. In the air, you know,” Jaskier flapped his arms around. “And then, occasionally, with great effort, I can…influence them.”</p><p>***</p><p>Basically an alternative world in which Jaskier possesses the powers of Jasper from Twilight. No, I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>297</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Make Me Feel Something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The first of a few chapters! This is my first time writing for this fandom and I've only seen the show, so please forgive any errors in worldbuilding/characterisation - I'm just going a bit rogue here. This is definitely the crossover nobody asked for, but here you are nonetheless.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Geralt should have known from the very beginning. The fact he didn’t knock the bard unconscious just for bothering him at that bar the first time – that instead he felt interested, <em>curious </em>about the unbelievably foolish man in front of him – should have been enough to clue him in.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Even later, when watching Jaskier perform, he still didn’t work it out. He’d always known music could move an audience (though he couldn’t understand why), but Jaskier’s performances were something else. Standing in a crowd, watching the bard perform, Geralt could feel how the mood moved with him through the song. When Jaskier spoke of heartbreak, they wept. When he spoke of mirth, they roared with laughter. When the songs ended, as all too many did, in death and grief, the crowd mourned right along with him. It seemed that whatever Jaskier wanted the crowd to feel, they felt. And Geralt, if he was being honest, felt it too. Not that he wanted Jaskier to know that.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It was a strange thing, though, to listen to Jaskier sing. Particularly when he was singing of <em>him </em>– of Geralt’s adventures. To experience those adventures, the drowner slayings or the harpie fights, was nothing compared to hearing Jaskier sing about them. Geralt always felt calm in a fight, centred, but when Jaskier, his honeyed voice rising above the crowd, spoke of Geralt raising his sword, he felt his heart hammer like it never had before. At times, at the crescendo of the song, it was all Geralt could do to keep himself from crying out along with the rest of the audience.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It was all incredibly annoying. But still, he didn’t see anything wrong. Not until the night of the ball.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It was the third of these miserable events Jaskier had forced Geralt to attend. After the first (where he walked away with a child surprise he had not asked for) Geralt swore he’d never return, but there was something about the way Jaskier looked at him when he asked him, begging for his protection – he couldn’t refuse. And, though he was loath to admit it even to himself, the thought of someone hurting Jaskier made his stomach twist.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He <em>could </em>resist having his clothes taken away, however. Which was what he was doing right now, glaring at Jaskier from the bathtub as the bard looked hopefully towards his pile of clothes. “Don’t touch them, Jaskier.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The slighter man pouted. “Please, Geralt. I know you hated the silk trader clothes in Vizima, and the merchant’s bloomers from Redania last time, but this is different! I’ve brought you the most beautiful blue robes – fit for a prince! Think how the periwinkle will look against your hair—”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“I said <em>no, </em>Jaskier. If you want me at this ridiculous event, I’m wearing my own clothes. That’s final.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Geralt, you can’t walk into Princess Adda’s inauguration ball in your witcher’s gear. You’re a guest of honour, you saved her life! They’ll be expecting you to wear something grand.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Then they will be disappointed. They’re royalty. They’ll recover.” Geralt could see Jaskier was about to counter, so he held up one hand. “I am only coming tonight to keep you alive, Jaskier. If I have to fight any jealous idiots, I’ll do it dressed as a witcher. Maybe that will give them second thoughts about slitting your throat.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier, rather than looking cowed or afraid in any way, just huffed crossly. Geralt saw him eye the pile of the clothes by the tub, and briefly consider lunging for them, but one look at Geralt’s face appeared to change his mind. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll just have to look splendid enough for the both of us.” Then he turned on his heel and flounced from the room.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He did, as it turned out, look splendid enough for the both of them. When Jaskier emerged from his room in the tavern, after what felt to Geralt like a lifetime later, he was squeaky clean and smelled fresh, like the lavender soap Geralt had seen him buy a few towns over. He was dressed in a doublet Geralt hadn’t seen before – it was a bright emerald green trimmed in gold, with matching hose. Geralt allowed his eyes to travel surreptitiously down the length of Jaskier’s figure, trying to quiet an unexplained jolt of lust.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier grinned widely, as if he knew what Geralt was thinking. “Not bad, right? And just think how much finer I’d look with a tall man in periwinkle blue striding beside me! There’s still time, Geralt—”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt ground his teeth, and without speaking turned and left the tavern.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The palace looked very different to the last time he was here. Then, it had been a place of great sorrow, and secrecy, with a people living in fear of a foul monster. But now, with the princess returned, Geralt saw the change in the very building. The flagstones were scrubbed bright, and great garlands of flowers hung from the entranceway. He snuck a look at Jaskier, and saw he was wide-eyed, enchanted. Geralt smiled to himself.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He stopped smiling, however, when they entered the banquet hall.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt had planned to stay in the shadows; blend into the background and watch Jaskier’s back. But before he was three steps through the entrance, Triss Merigold was there, all wild hair and wide grin. She beamed at the sight of Geralt, and pushed forward, wrapping him in a hug.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Geralt!” she said, muffled against his shoulder. “It’s been too long.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He smiled, too, and pulled back. “Triss. You look well.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Her hazel eyes were bright as she looked up at him. Then they flickered over to Jaskier, who was standing expectantly behind Geralt. “Oh – and your friend?”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Jaskier, my lady,” the bard said, bowing deeply. “Bard extraordinaire, cataloguer of the witcher’s tales, spinner of secrets.” He drew up, and smiled widely at her. “I tell all of Geralt’s stories, but he never told me of you – else there would already be a great ballad being sung in every tavern about the red-haired beauty of Temeria.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Triss laughed, a musical sound, and placed her hand in Jaskier’s, giggling again as he brought it to his lips. “You are a flatterer, sir. I wonder that you can spend time with the most taciturn man in all the World, with a silver tongue like that.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier sighed theatrically. “It is a burden to carry, I admit. I have tried many times to impart my manners to our friend here, but he has never caught on.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Enough,” Geralt growled. He was surprised at his own irritation. He cared for Triss, but he’d never been interested in her – he didn’t expect to feel this sharp spike of jealousy, to see her flirting with Jaskier. It made no sense.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier, as if sensing his change in mood, turned and gave him a complicated look.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">But Triss was moving now. She leant forward and took Geralt’s arm. “Alright then, old man, we have wounded your pride enough for one night. Come – you have a seat at the high table!”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt looked up, and saw a long banquet table, set on a platform above the rest of the ballroom. King Foltest sat there, beside Princess Adda. And beside her – an empty seat. Geralt blanched, and pulled back. “Triss, I’m not sitting up there.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">She shook her head. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Geralt. You’re the guest of honour. To refuse would be an insult.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“But—” Geralt cast around, desperately. “But I’m here to protect my friend! Jaskier will be in danger without me near.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“No fear, Geralt!” Jaskier said, a wicked grin across his face. “I’ll just set up here at the dais, I’ll be fine. You go, take your seat of honour!” And he danced away delightedly, before Geralt could grab him and growl again. The traitor.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">After four hours, Geralt was more than ready to go home. Princess Alda had attempted at first to make polite conversation with him, but had given up after his fifth grunted reply, and the nobles seated to his other side quailed with fear each time he so much as looked at them. He was hot, and uncomfortable, and tired of being stared at by so many sets of eyes around the room.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then he saw the man approaching Jaskier.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man was dressed in noble attire, and moving with furious purpose. He had spotted Jaskier from across the room and was now stalking towards him, head down and face red. Jaskier, midway through a lute solo, clocked him at the same time Geralt did, and the colour drained from his face. Geralt was on his feet immediately.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man approached Jaskier, arms waving, and Geralt couldn’t hear what he was saying yet, but he had a sense it had to do with this man’s wife, and Jaskier’s balls, and exactly what this man planned to <em>do </em>to Jaskier’s balls in retaliation, and Geralt was <em>irritated </em>but also needed to <em>get there quickly, </em>but the guests were milling around, dancing and drinking and blocking his view—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt pushed through a group of revellers, and saw Jaskier standing face to face with the man, lute in hand, and his other hand resting gently on the man’s shoulder. The nobleman, whose face had been a picture of fury just moments ago, looked oddly peaceful. Geralt, still full of adrenaline, charged up to them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Jaskier,” he gasped, then turned to look closer at the nobleman, who was still staring serenely into the middle distance. “what—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No need to worry, dear Witcher!” Jaskier said with a smile. “The honourable Duke of Mountleberry here approached to tell me about an issue with the Duchess, but it seems we’ve come to an agreement that it was all a misunderstanding.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The duke turned his placid face to Geralt, and to Geralt’s amazement, he smiled. “Yes! I <em>was </em>coming over here to confront your friend, but after our conversation I confess my anger has evaporated, and I think I must have misunderstood.” He gave Jaskier a contented look. “I haven’t felt this at peace in a long time, bard. You have quieted my fears. I owe you a mighty apology - and I think, were it not for this feeling of calm our conversation has wrought, I would be very ashamed of myself.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier bowed his head magnanimously. “No apology required, your grace. I am honoured I could place your mind at ease.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt looked at Jaskier closely. While his expression was a picture of graciousness, his face was pale, and there were beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. And as Geralt looked closer, he saw how tightly Jaskier was gripping the duke’s shoulder, as if he were holding him in place with great effort, though the duke did not appear to move.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well, I should away,” the duke said, “to apologise to my dear wife and do some self-reflection. Thank you again, dear bard, and please let me interrupt your sweet music no longer.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier inclined his head again, and released his grip on the duke’s shoulder. And while a lesser observer might have missed it, Geralt saw a flash of surprise, and a shadow of his previous anger, flicker across the duke’s face. But then he appeared to pull himself together, and nodding quickly at Geralt, he vanished into the crowd.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier turned to face Geralt. He was smiling, but his face still looked drawn. “Phew!” he said, and exhaled. “A close call eh, old friend? What do you say we head off a little early? I think these people have heard enough tales of the White Wolf for one banquet.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt was quiet. He was quiet as they bid their farewells to King Foltest and the princess, he was quiet as Triss waved them off, he was quiet on the ride home, and on the walk up the stairs to their room. Jaskier, apparently unaware, chattered the whole time, but even in his usual talkativeness there was less enthusiasm - he seemed tired, like he had undertaken a great trial.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt waited until they were inside their room in the tavern, with the door shut, and then he sat down on the bed and looked up at Jaskier, who was tuning his lute. He had spent enough time being quiet, now. He knew the question he had to ask.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What are you?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier, startled, spun to look at him. “What?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Are you a wizard? A warlock? Where did you learn your spells?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier shook his head. “Geralt, I don’t—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The nobleman,” Geralt interrupted, irritation rising. “You did something to him tonight. Tricked him, somehow. He was coming to confront you for something you’d obviously done, but by the time I reached you, you’d—enchanted him.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You’re surprised at my ability to be enchanting?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">"Jaskier, this is not a joke," Geralt growled.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">"Well it sounds like one to me!" Jaskier’s face was flushed now. "Geralt, really - you think I need to be a sorcerer to stop men from killing me? Is your opinion of me really that low?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt leaned towards him, teeth gritted. "Jaskier, if you are a spellcaster, I have a right to know. If you are something else - if you are putting people at risk-“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier rolled his eyes, ”oh relax, Geralt-“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">"Tell me the truth, Jaskier!" Geralt shouted, and hot anger flashed through him. He felt an urge to reach for his sword and contained it, barely, but he saw Jaskier's eyes widen in shock.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier held his hands up in front of him. “Alright, Geralt, alright! I’m not a wizard!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then what—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m an emotional manipulator!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There was a pause. Geralt stared at Jaskier, until Jaskier blushed. “Well, I mean— I mean I have a power…this <em>ability.</em> I am able, to, um, sense emotions.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Another pause. “You can sense emotions,” Geralt repeated, nonplussed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes! I can sort of, feel them. In the air, you know,” Jaskier flapped his arms around. “And then, occasionally, with great effort, I can…influence them.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt kept staring. “Influence them.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, Geralt, and you don’t actually have to repeat everything I say, you know.” Jaskier leapt to his feet and began pacing, filled with nervous energy. “It’s not easy, although certain things make it easier - music, for example,” he said, swinging round and gesturing to his lute. “That allows me to…channel it somehow, to change the moods of a group of people - although I can only do it in a general, abstract sort of way. If I want to make a more direct change to someone’s emotions, I need to… touch them.” His grey eyes caught Geralt’s, then flickered away. “That’s what you saw me doing, tonight. I was influencing the duke’s emotions, trying to change his anger towards me into a more…favourable emotion.” Jaskier sat again, and looked up at Geralt.“So, there you go. Emotional manipulator.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt could feel his mind whirring, trying to take this information in. He levelled his gaze at Jaskier. “How long?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ah, good, some more monosyllabic questions, thrilling,” Jaskier quipped, but his words came out flat. “How long have I been able to do this, you mean?” He shrugged. “As long as I can remember.I don’t know where it came from, if that’s your next question, and I don’t use it for evil, just to keep myself alive, and earn some coin when I can. It’s a skill, just like your handiness with that ridiculously enormous sword, and it’s a skill I’ve honed over time, although it’s still not always successful, and it still…takes a toll.” He ran a hand through his carefully-tousled hair, and any pretence seemed to fall away from him. Geralt saw now how weariness sat in every line of his body, how he hid it skilfully by seeming light on his feet. Looking at Jaskier now, Geralt realised he was a man who lived his life exhausted.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He pushed the thought from his mind. He stood up. “Show me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier stared. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Show me.” Geralt held his arm out, and gestured to it with his other hand. “Touch me, and— and make me feel something.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">An impenetrable look crossed Jaskier’s face. He stood, slowly, watching Geralt closely. With great care, he raised his hand and placed it lightly on Geralt’s forearm. He stood there for a moment, eyes locked with Geralt, and then said in a low voice, “how would you like to feel?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt felt his heart stutter. The air between them was charged with something— something he didn’t recognise and couldn’t parse. Jaskier still held his gaze steadily, his hand still resting feather-light on Geralt’s forearm. “I— I don’t—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then suddenly everything was hilarious. Jaskier’s deep, soulful eyes, his hand on Geralt’s arm - his hand! Manicured, and so little! On Geralt’s enormous forearm! A great hysteria rose up within him and he doubled over, roaring with laughter, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Each time he looked up at Jaskier, the humour of the situation struck him again. He tried to stop but he couldn’t breathe, everything he looked at was so funny, he could die like this—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then Jaskier let go of his arm.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The world swam, briefly, and then Geralt felt his heart stop pounding, and his hysterical laughter died out. He coughed, straightened, and saw Jaskier watching him with that same complicated expression. Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Well?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Did you—” Geralt coughed again, still catching his breath after the laughter, “was that <em>you</em>?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier smiled. “It’s about time I made you laugh.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A warrior, not a weeping poet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Remember, wolves: for a Witcher, love is another word for death.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a short chapter this time, sorry team! I promise there is more to come, and soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>Geralt was eight years old again, sitting in the draughty great hall at Kaer Morhen, waiting for a theory lesson to begin. Vesemir stalked back and forth at the front of the hall. Geralt and the other boys in training, unused to sitting still like this, shifted impatiently in their seats, til Vesemir turned and fixed them with his stony gaze.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You will be told by many,” he began, “that Witchers have no emotions. They believe emotions are removed during the mutations, or beaten out of you here at Kaer Morhen. This is a lie.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Geralt felt his heart rate increase at the mention of the dreaded mutations, but he leaned in, eager to hear more.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Witchers have emotions,” Vesemir said. “As men, you will feel as much as you feel now. Rage. Fear. Lust. All these feelings are instincts, as important as your fighting instincts, and we would not train them out of you even if we could. But,” Vesemir paused now, and his craggy face became stern. “There is one emotion you must never trust, as a Witcher. That is love.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Love is a useless emotion; one that has done more to endanger men and throw armies off-course than any other. Entire wars have been fight and lost for love. Witchers cannot afford such a distraction.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“We shape your training, and administer the trials, so love cannot weaken you. We cannot alter your instinctual emotions, but we can give you that protection. Witchers, as we train them, are incapable of love. Which means,” and again he looked at them fiercely, “if you should find yourself feeling love, you will know it is a deception. Do not give into it.” Vesemir caught Geralt’s eye, and Geralt felt his gaze like a cool blade, sharp upon him.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Remember, wolves: for a Witcher, love is another word for death.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>***</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt awoke in a cold sweat. He lay still for a moment, his heart thudding. It had been a long time since he had dreamt of Kaer Morhen.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But he supposed it was unsurprising, given how his mind had been buzzing when he fell asleep. He had grilled Jaskier late into the night, learning as much as he could about his powers and trying to understand them from every angle. At last, when he felt he knew enough to share a room with the man (and when Jaskier’s under-eye circles started to look like they might swallow up his eyes) Geralt had let it (and Jaskier) rest.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Geralt rolled over now, to look at him. Jaskier’s arms were flung out above him, his mouth open. The exhaustion Geralt had seen on his face earlier was gone. Sleeping, Jaskier looked so peaceful. Geralt felt affection welling up within him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then he wondered, for a moment, if Jaskier could feel that warm affection, if it emanated from Geralt and warmed Jaskier as he slept. And as he pondered this, the warmth was slowly replaced by a sense of cold dread.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He rolled back again, quickly, mind racing.He hadn’t even thought, in the entire time they’d been discussing Jaskier’s powers, about the fact they meant Jaskier could read <em>his </em>emotions.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He thought back, horror rising, to that morning, when he’d felt a pang of lust while looking at Jaskier - and what about all the times before that, when he’d taken a moment to look at the way Jaskier’s trousers fit, or allowed himself to admire the bard’s red mouth? These were supposed to be private thoughts, permissible only because Jaskier would never know about them. The thought of Jaskier <em>sensing </em>all of his emotions, <em>knowing </em>how Geralt felt around him - it was nightmarish.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Well, it couldn’t carry on. Geralt mentally squared himself. He was a witcher. He was a warrior, not a weeping poet. Most folk believed he possessed no emotions, so when around Jaskier, he would entertain that charade, He would simply stop them - quash any feelings before Jaskier had the chance to sense them. It would be easy. It would be as natural as breathing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Beside him, Jaskier sighed, and murmured something under his breath in his sleep. Geralt felt his heart contract slightly, and that note of tenderness rising in him again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He shut his eyes and breathed out slowly. “Fuck.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Explain yourself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just another short one, hope that's ok! Will do my best to update again soon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Over time, the two of them established an uneasy routine. They carried on through the countryside, Geralt slaying anything that required slaying, and Jaskier singing about it afterwards. Geralt knew, now, how Jaskier could raise a crowd on a wave of emotion, and he knew, too, why Jaskier looked so weary after a performance. Sitting across from the bard as he stretched his callous fingers, face lined with exhaustion, Geralt would wince to remember the thoughtless comments he’d made to Jaskier, the many times he’d accused him of plucking at his lute while Geralt did the real work of fighting. But he didn’t say any of this to Jaskier - he didn’t even <em>think</em> it when he was around him. Because Geralt was an emotions vault. He was completely locked down, and feeling absolutely nothing at all times.</p><p class="p1">For example, at this moment, as he sat in the corner of yet another tavern nursing yet another a mug of below-average ale, he was definitely <em>not </em>watching Jaskier chat up the barmaid, and feeling irritated by it. He was not, because not only was he not feeling remotely interested in what Jaskier did, Geralt was not feeling anything. He really was not. He was <em>not </em>feeling something like disgust at the sight of Jaskier brushing the barmaid’s hair out of her face, and he was <em>not </em>watching the girl walk away and considering a variety of ways to trip her up. He was <em>not</em> doing that, because Geralt was a witcher, and as a witcher, he had a masterful control over his emotions.</p><p class="p1">So he was startled when Jaskier waved a hand in front of his face, breaking into his inner monologue. “Geralt!”</p><p class="p1">Geralt swivelled to look at him, still keeping his emotions very much in check. “What?”</p><p class="p1">“Could you…calm down a little? I think storm clouds are going to start circling around you shortly.”</p><p class="p1">“What?” Geralt, bewildered, stared at him. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Are you using your powers on me?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I don’t <em>need </em>to use my powers, Geralt, you have a thunderclap for a face right now. And yes, if you want to know, you are somewhat <em>radiating </em>displeasure, but I suspect that’s something the whole tavern can pick up on without any magical abilities.” He looked exasperated. “What exactly is your problem?”</p><p class="p1">Geralt grunted. This didn't make sense - he was sure he’d been keeping his emotions under control. Jaskier wasn’t supposed to be able to tell what he was thinking, and he certainly didn’t need the entire tavern in his head. He caught Jaskier’s eye, and something about that concerned grey gaze made his chest twist again…</p><p class="p1">“I’m going to bed,” Geralt announced shortly, and stood. He marched in the direction of their room, definitely <em>not </em>intentionally shouldering past the barmaid as he went and spilling the ale she was carrying.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier was only a few steps behind him. When they reached their room, he slammed the door and spun around to face Geralt, his arms crossed over his skinny chest. “Right,” he huffed, a little out of breath. “Explain yourself. What is going on?”</p><p class="p1">Geralt ignored him, and began sorting his pack for the next morning. He was <em>not </em>worrying about Jaskier sensing his emotions, and he was <em>not </em>feeling conflicted about why he’d become so irritated by the barmaid, and he was particularly <em>not </em>noticing the smell of Jaskier in this small room, the way the bard’s scent seemed to fill the space, sweat and jasmine and polished wood—</p><p class="p1">“I don’t use it for sex, alright, Geralt?” Jaskier half-shouted, out of nowhere.</p><p class="p1">Geralt snapped his head up, thunderstruck. “W-what?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier’s face was beet red. “I know that’s why you’re so annoyed. You’re thinking I was using my powers on that girl, to flirt with her, to get her to sleep with me, but I <em>wasn’t, </em>Geralt. I don’t do that, alright? You don’t need to be all high and mighty.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt, still flabbergasted, just stared at him.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier sighed deeply. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking - and you’re right, okay, I <em>have</em> used it for sex before. Maybe once or twice. Alright, lots of times - but I learned pretty quickly it’s not worth it! It’s a ton of work, for one thing, and it always leaves you feeling empty, and deceitful. Besides, I can’t keep someone feeling a particular emotion for long if they don’t want to feel it. And,” he continued, pouting slightly, “I don’t actually <em>need </em>it to find lovers, you know! I’m good enough at that on my own, thank you very much!”</p><p class="p1">Monologue over, he plonked himself down on the bed, staring at the floor, and caught his breath for a moment. Geralt let the silence rest, still trying to catch up with the one-sided conversation - and trying <em>very </em>hard not to think about Jaskier’s last comment about finding lovers. At last, when it seemed Jaskier wasn’t going to distract him by breaking the silence, he asked a question he’d been avoiding until now.</p><p class="p1">“Have you ever used it on me?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier looked up, taken aback. He paused, as if thinking, then met Geralt’s gaze steadily. “Honestly? Yes. Only at the start, when it looked like you might actually kill me! I only used it to avoid meeting with the end of your sword, and once your sort of…murderous emotions declined, I stopped.” He kept his grey eyes trained on Geralt’s. “I don’t use it for the people I care about, Geralt,” he said, more softly. “I wouldn’t alter your emotions now. I promise.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt nodded. He’d guessed, already, that Jaskier had been meddling a little at the beginning - and if he was honest with himself, he was relieved he hadn’t run the bard through then, though he’d certainly entertained the idea. He looked into Jaskier’s worried face, and figured he might as well ask the other question he’d been avoiding. “Can you — do you…read me? I mean, my feelings?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier squirmed a little. “Well, yes. Not intentionally, mind, but occasionally you broadcast them quite <em>loudly</em>. Like tonight, for instance, when your disapproval was sort of impossible to ignore—” Seeing Geralt’s face begin to darken, he held his hands out defensively. “If it helps, you’re pretty hard to read! Harder than most. And you were hard to influence, too - something to do with that thick skull, I imagine.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt growled, but half-heartedly. Jaskier grinned, and Geralt felt his heart flip a little again. He panicked. “Jaskier, don’t read me.”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier winced, hands flailing. “I mean it’s not exactly something I can <em>control—</em>“</p><p class="p1">“Don’t. Please, Jaskier.” Geralt was trying for stern, but something in his voice must have betrayed him, because Jaskier gave him a surprised look.</p><p class="p1">“Alright,” he said after a moment, gently. “I’ll do my best.”</p><p class="p1">And that night, as they lay in their separate beds, Geralt waited, listening for the sounds of Jaskier drifting to sleep, but he seemed to lie awake for a long time, his little human heart beating at irregular intervals. And Geralt did <em>not</em> lie there too, thinking about his own heart, beating in tandem with Jaskier’s, all night long.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Where the Rot Bloomed From</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>By the time he was 10, he could read an entire emotional range in his peers, sense every small adjustment in their prepubescent feelings. They radiated off people, almost like colours; they seeped into his skin. He inhaled other people’s emotions.</p><p>He could feel, too, the more complex emotions of adults.  He could feel his father, across the grand hall, as he prickled with rage.</p><p>Not that it kept Jaskier safe.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Jaskier had not lied to Geralt. Well, not exactly.</p><p class="p1">He was <em>trying </em>not to listen to Geralt’s emotions. Truly, he was! The difficult thing was, Geralt asking him not to read his emotions only made Jaskier a thousand times more interested in Geralt’s emotions. He’d been this way all his life - if he wasn’t allowed to know something, he needed to know <em>why </em>he wasn’t allowed to know it.</p><p class="p1">That was where all the trouble had started, really.When he was small - maybe about five or six, still squeaky-voiced and full of sugary enthusiasm - he’d spent most of his time trying to figure out the grownups around him, to assess what they were feeling.His father, cold and remote, his mother, beautiful but so bitter - he’d hide around corners and follow their footsteps, listening all the time.Even then, he knew something was deeply wrong in his picturesque home.He was listening, trying to sense where the rot bloomed from.</p><p class="p1">And over time, his listening gave way to something.It started as a dim sense at first, a slight prickling under his skin when he was near someone, and then over time he began to discern that what he was sensing were <em>emotions</em>. It wasn’t always clear, or easily discernible - it felt like trying to learn another language.But Jaskier was a poet, and every good poet has to know how to listen.</p><p class="p1">So he kept listening. By the time he was 10, he could read an entire emotional range in his peers, sense every small adjustment in their prepubescent feelings. They radiated off people, almost like colours, they seeped into his skin. He inhaled other people’s emotions.</p><p class="p1">He could feel, too, the more complex emotions of adults.He could feel his father, across the grand hall, as he prickled with rage.</p><p class="p1">Not that it kept Jaskier safe.</p><p class="p1">But he learned to survive, all the same. He honed his skill till he could wield it like a weapon, til he could not only absorb and decode others’ feelings, but begin to throw back the feelings he wanted them to have. He learned if he listened carefully, if he leaned in and gave himself over to it, he could make them feel anything he wanted.</p><p class="p1">Anything, except, of course, the thing he wanted others to feel for him most.He could make them hate him, revere him, could make them feel endless longing or lust. But no matter what Jaskier did, he couldn’t make them love him. His parents had shown him that, long ago, and the few others he’d tried to transmit his truest feelings to had shown it too. That emotion was lost to him.</p><p class="p1">But the listening wasn’t.After he left - after he realised his power couldn’t win his parents over, couldn’t root out the rot that by then was pouring out of all of them and making him sick - he learned to hide his power, to use it carefully. It was easier with music, where he could channel his power through chords and douse a crowd in it, or through touch, where he could carefully let feelings seep out of him and into his target. He could read a room in seconds, though every person was different. Some projected their feelings, like sunbeams through a window, and others stepped through theirs carefully, keeping them murky, grey.</p><p class="p1">Geralt was the hardest to read of all. He’d always kept his feelings so close to his chest it made Jaskier squint around him. Other than a few minor adjustments at the beginning to make sure Geralt didn’t kill him outright, Jaskier had been too nervous to use his powers around the Witcher, so he’d never really been able to lean in and <em>touch </em>Geralt, to get to the bottom of his clipped, careful feelings. Other people’s emotions swirled around them, frantic, but Geralt’s stepped slowly alongside him.</p><p class="p1">Not that Jaskier was listening to Geralt’s emotions, anymore. He wanted Geralt to trust him, and he knew, with the powers he had, that was a trust that had to be earned. He’d lost friends to his powers before, and he didn’t want this to wreck his hard-won friendship with Geralt.</p><p class="p1">The problem was, Geralt was acting <em>weird.</em></p><p class="p1">Jaskier had sensed lust in Geralt before, when he was around. He’d never thought that much of it - Geralt was a large man, with large appetites, and at times the two of them were out on the road with no one else around for miles. It didn’t surprise Jaskier to know that occasionally, in that state of sexual frustration, Geralt might eye him up, quietly. Gods knew, Jaskier had spent <em>hours </em>analysing the curve of Geralt’s ass, or the flex of his bicep, in probably far less subtle ways - so Jaskier wasn’t placing much significance on it.</p><p class="p1">But it wasn’t lust that Jaskier was sensing in Geralt, now. In fact, he wasn’t sure what exactly it was. Though he really <em>was </em>trying his best not to read him, Geralt’s feelings kept sneaking out into his periphery - and they were a <em>mess. </em>Jaskier sensed Geralt’s usual range of emotion - anger, irritation, and yes, the odd spike of arousal - but while these feelings emerged now and then, mostly Geralt’s emotions were muddy, indistinct. Jaskier had always known Geralt to have clean, clear emotions - though his were quieter than other people’s, they’d always made sense to Jaskier. Now, he just couldn’t figure the Witcher out.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Until, of course, the night before the dragon hunt.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier had been playing for what felt like hours. It was a good night - Geralt had a job for the next day, something about a basilisk, and they’d found a tavern with a rowdy crowd (and a few rowdy barmaids, too, Jaskier noticed).Jaskier was keeping pace with them, three tankards of ale deep, stamping his feet on the table and on about his fifth reprise of “Fishmonger’s Daughter”.He barely needed to use his powers on nights like tonight; the crowd carrying itself along with his mirth, and now he had them up, clapping their hands and dancing.Jaskier spun, letting his joy spill out of him, and as he did he caught sight of Geralt in the corner.</p><p class="p1">The Witcher was sitting in the darkness, as he always did, fingers curled around his ale, but his usually sour expression was gone.Instead, his face was twisted in a half-smile, and his eyes were shining.Jaskier realised with a jolt that Geralt was <em>watching </em>him - not to keep him safe, or to stop him getting into trouble, but just to admire him, from afar.</p><p class="p1">And as Jaskier realised that, he felt an emotion he hadn’t felt from Geralt before.It radiated out, like an arrow through the crowd.</p><p class="p1">Holy shit.Geralt was in love with him.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Where a Bard Belongs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier knew Geralt was still in love with Yennefer, of course he did.  He’d been dealing with the Yennefer-related fallout since that first night he saw them fucking in the ruined castle.  Yennefer would step out of a portal, she would do her murder-y glare at Jaskier and say something unnecessary mean, she and Geralt would stride heroically off somewhere to fuck each other’s brains out, and Geralt would emerge the next day, reeking of gooseberries and radiating sorrow. It was a pattern. Jaskier was used to it. It was just…he thought something might have broken the pattern.</p><p>He thought he might have broken the pattern.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It was the next night, and Jaskier still hadn’t figured out how to confront Geralt about the whole <em>love </em>thing. It just…hadn’t come up! Plus, the further away he got from the look Geralt had given him, the more Jaskier began to doubt himself. Could he be <em>sure </em>he’d felt what he thought he’d felt? Was it just wishful thinking? What on earth would possess Geralt of Rivia, literal warrior and probable sex god, to fall in love with a bard (even one as handsome and charming as Jaskier???)</p><p class="p1">His inner monologue rattled on through the evening.They were sitting by the fire, across from the old man and his two warrior women, who were trying to bring Geralt on board for some hunt. Jaskier was half-heartedly flirting with Téa and Véa - from the strength of the disgust he felt from both of them (hurtful!) he suspected he was unlikely to get anywhere, but he was more interested in the strange spikes of irritation he was sensing from Geralt as he spoke. Jaskier was playing around, inventing yet more outrageous pick-up lines to see if they would make Geralt bristle, and having quite a lot of fun with it, too — and then <em>she </em>walked in.</p><p class="p1">The change in Geralt was immediate, and unmistakable. Jaskier saw him see <em>her</em>, and Geralt’s vague irritation was gone.In its place, emotions Jaskier could read, plain as day: shock. Apprehension. Hope. And, though he was loathe to admit it, the same emotion he’d felt from Geralt last night.The Witcher was feeling…love.</p><p class="p1">This was going to be a very long trip.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">They’d been walking uphill for what felt to Jaskier like hours. He was used to long days of walking, travelling with Geralt, but that didn’t mean his knees and ankles <em>liked </em>it. And there wasn’t any distraction to be found in the others’ emotions.</p><p class="p1">The dwarves, who charged ahead of them, were thinking only of conquest, exuding determination and a sharp-edged greed, and the Reavers behind had an air of such bloodlust around them that it made Jaskier’s scalp prickle. Borch, he was finding almost impossible to interpret - the man seemed carefully guarded - and Téa and Véa alternated between admiration around Borch, and contempt whenever Jaskier tried to catch their eye (still hurtful!) The knight accompanying Yennefer was so surrounded by pompous self-righteousness Jaskier could hardly bear to listen in to him, and Yennefer herself - <em>fucking </em>Yennefer! - had always been a hard one for him to read. He wondered if she suspected his powers, as any emotions he gleaned from her always seemed half-truth, half-glamour. As she stalked ahead, her coat whipping in the wind, her disgust for the knight whom she pretended to adore seemed to mask a deeper, hotter kind of longing, though he didn’t know for what, or for whom.</p><p class="p1">And Geralt - well, Jaskier was trying very hard not to pay attention to Geralt. His emotions were too raw, too open. Tuning into them felt like it was causing Jaskier actual pain.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier knew Geralt was still in love with Yennefer, of course he did.He’d been dealing with the Yennefer-related fallout since that first night he saw them fucking in the ruined castle.Yennefer would step out of a portal, she would do her murder-y glare at Jaskier and say something unnecessary mean, she and Geralt would stride heroically off somewhere to fuck each other’s brains out, and Geralt would emerge the next day, reeking of gooseberries and radiating sorrow. It was a pattern. Jaskier was used to it. It was just…he thought something might have broken the pattern.</p><p class="p1">He thought <em>he </em>might have broken the pattern.</p><p class="p1">But walking behind Geralt now, Jaskier felt how Geralt <em>burned </em>for Yennefer. It was a desperate, overwhelming feeling, so potent it sickened Jaskier. Whatever he’d thought Geralt was feeling for him last night, it was nothing compared to this. </p><p class="p1">He tried to distract Geralt, where he could. Wandering into the bushes and nearly getting attacked by a hideous tall goblin thing was a good start - the spike of alarm Geralt felt when Jaskier called his name was gratifying. But then of course, the knight had to kill the beast ostentatiously, and Yennefer had to get all mushy with the knight, and Geralt had to sink back into his simmering, roiling surliness.</p><p class="p1">That night around the campfire, as Yennefer and Sir Eycke made eyes at each other, Jaskier felt like he could actually <em>feel</em> the heat rising from Geralt.His irritation, and confusion when he looked at Yennefer and the knight, was almost more than Jaskier could bear.Even when Sir Eycke stood, all gasping bowels, and limped away, Geralt’s dark mood didn’t lift for a moment. He was looking at Yennefer. And Yennefer was studiously avoiding looking at him.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Jaskier did feel a little responsible, the next day. If he hadn’t been so focused on Geralt’s feelings, he might have noticed sooner the murderous energy exuding from the reavers, and might have noticed Sir Eycke was in danger from more than his irritable bowels. But it was hard to feel too sorry for a man like Sir Eycke, and Jaskier had to admit he didn’t miss his self-righteous emotions being broadcast into the still air.</p><p class="p1">He did miss Geralt, though. It shouldn’t have surprised him, to see him run off after Yennefer when she trod her own path. But though he told himself it was a blessing to have a break from Geralt’s pining and Yennefer’s murky fury, in truth the day crawled by, as he waited for Geralt to join them again. And even once he did - as they made their painful way around the cliff face (which was <em>not </em>Jaskier’s idea of a fun shortcut, thanks so much!) - Geralt’s emotions were darker and more complicated than before. Whatever Yennefer said to him had him on edge, deep in self-recrimination.</p><p class="p1">Later, once Borch and Téa and Véa had fallen from the cliff (they leapt without feeling a moment of fear, he couldn’t make sense of it), Jaskier saw Geralt sitting alone at the edge of the camp. He was staring out across the mountains, his emotions flashing with weariness and anger and a deep, impenetrable sorrow.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier didn’t think, for once.He let himself sit beside Geralt, as natural as breathing. There was quiet for a moment.</p><p class="p1">“You did your best,” he said, softly.“There’s nothing else you could have done.”</p><p class="p1">They sat. Geralt didn’t speak, but Jaskier felt the clouds shifting, swirling.</p><p class="p1">“Look, why don’t we leave, tomorrow?” He was talking before he could second-guess himself. “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion.”</p><p class="p1">He saw Geralt half-smile. “Hm.”</p><p class="p1">“We could head to the coast,” he said, pushing his luck, “get away for a while.” He paused, and felt, for a moment, Geralt’s dark mood lighten. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? <em>Life is too short. Do what pleases you.” </em>He paused, caught his breath. “While you can.”</p><p class="p1">There was a flicker of amusement then, in Geralt’s feelings. “Composing your next song?”</p><p class="p1">But Jaskier didn’t want to make him laugh, not anymore. He wanted to tell him the truth. “No, I’m just, ah…” he stopped, kept his gaze straight ahead. “Just trying to work out what pleases me.”</p><p class="p1">He said it like <em>I heard you.</em></p><p class="p1">He said it like <em>I know you’ve felt it.</em></p><p class="p1">He said it like <em>I love you, too.</em></p><p class="p1">And for a moment, just one, shining moment, something in Geralt really shifted. Jaskier felt it in the other man, surging upwards, breaking through the clouds. He let it sit there, this fluttering thing.He was too scared to break the spell. And then, after an agonising silence, Geralt stood up, and walked away.</p><p class="p1">Geralt spent the night with Yennefer.</p><p class="p1">When Jaskier woke, he woke alone.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">There are many places a bard belongs, Jaskier was thinking to himself, as he trudged through the dust. On a table in a pub, roaring out some bawdy tune, or in fine linens in a ballroom, smiling at painted nobles, or in a bed somewhere, bent in half, with his head buried in the sweet thighs of whatever barmaid or dishboy will have him - these are the places a bard belongs. On a mountain, alone, chasing after a Witcher who is chasing after a witch who is chasing after a dragon - that is <em>not</em> where a bard belongs. It’s not even worth singing about. It’s just sad.</p><p class="p1">Getting to the battlefield, and discovering he had missed <em>literally the entire battle - </em>and then discovering Borch was…apparently a dragon, now? - did little to cheer his spirits. This entire day had been such a shitshow, he was ready to write the whole thing off and head home - but first he had to stand at a polite distance, and watch the man he’d basically offered his beating heart to last night have yet <em>another </em>emotionally stunted conversation with probably Jaskier’s least favourite woman in the history of existence.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier had to admit, this fight was a little more vicious than those he’d seen between Geralt and Yennefer before.He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but suddenly Geralt was on his feet, half-roaring <em>like FUCK you didn’t!</em> and okay, that was a little bit hot and also even from this distance Jaskier could feel how close both the witch and the Witcher were to breaking point. Each of their emotions circled the other, harsh and fiery, clashing and crashing against each other. Jaskier sat, and watched, wide-eyed.</p><p class="p1">Borch stopped them, then, their emotions still wild. He said something so softly Jaskier couldn’t hear him, and suddenly Yennefer wasn’t fire anymore - she was just full of pain. Jaskier felt her anger curdle, and a deep bitterness take its place. He watched her go, and for half a second, he wanted to say something - wanted to reach out and stop her from aching - but she was gone before he could draw breath, and Borch was gone too, and it was just him and Geralt again, alone on the mountain.</p><p class="p1">Geralt was silent, staring out across the horizon. Jaskier hesitated. Geralt’s emotions had never been so <em>loud </em>before. There was rage, simmering in his shoulders, and anguish written across his neck, and a great burden weighing down his shoulders, where his love had morphed into grief. Geralt was <em>hurting</em>. And Jaskier didn’t want him to hurt, anymore. Not if he could help it.</p><p class="p1">He stepped forward. He stretched a hand out. And, in spite of his promise, in spite of everything he knew he ought not to do, he let some of what he wanted Geralt to feel bleed out of him.</p><p class="p1">Jaskier hadn’t needed to use his powers much, the last few days. He was well-rested, strong. And he’d never focused on anyone the way he was focused on Geralt, now. He channelled his power through his fingertips, where they rested gently on Geralt’s shoulder. He took the anger from Geralt, the grief, the loss. He took it, and in exchange he left only peace. With a moment of pride, he watched the tension melt out of Geralt’s shoulders. Jaskier could do this. He couldn’t fix whatever thing was broken between Geralt and Yennefer, and he couldn’t stop the world from calling the man he loved a monster, but he could do this - he could give Geralt this small moment of peace, here at the edge of the sky.</p><p class="p1">Geralt turned, his eyes weary but calm. He stood for a moment, just looking at Jaskier, and a ghost of a smile traced its way across his face.</p><p class="p1">And then he saw Jaskier’s hand, where it lay on his shoulder. And something in Geralt’s expression changed.</p><p class="p1">“Jaskier.” With one jerk, he knocked Jaskier’s hand off his shoulder.His brow furrowed. “What—” and then his eyes widened. “Jaskier. What did you do?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier scrambled backwards, shocked. With the connection tethered, he couldn’t keep control of Geralt’s emotions anymore. The careful peace he’d poured into Geralt evaporated like steam, and the rage was back, tenfold. He held his hands up. “Geralt, wait.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt advanced on him, teeth bared. “<em>Dammit, Jaskier,</em>” he snarled, and all Jaskier could hear was <em>hate</em>. “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it?”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier struggled to catch his breath. “That’s not fair.”</p><p class="p1">“The child surprise,” Geralt spat. “The djinn. All of it. Every damn thing that goes wrong in my life,there you are, with your pesky little <em>powers</em>, pulling the strings!”</p><p class="p1">Jaskier shook his head, desperate. “That’s not what I was doing! Geralt, I didn’t mean—I only wanted to—”</p><p class="p1">But Geralt was snarling now, white hair a halo around his head. “If life could give me one blessing,” he hissed, and his emotions rose up cold around him, “it would be to <em>take you off my hands</em>.”</p><p class="p1">And then he turned, and walked away, and Jaskier could feel everything Geralt felt, and everything Geralt felt was contempt, and fury, and <em>loathing. </em>He wanted Jaskier gone. And Jaskier knew - had actual, irrefutable proof - that Geralt meant it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Nothing but a Weapon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt could still recognise Jaskier’s work anywhere. He stopped sleeping in taverns. He stayed to the woods instead.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">Geralt wandered aimlessly, after the dragon hunt. He walked from town to town, hunting monsters to quell the rage that lived inside him now, everywhere he went. The more life-threatening the jobs were, the better - he wanted to feel nothing, now.He wanted to hunt, and kill, and sleep. He wanted to be a weapon.</p><p class="p2">For the first few months, he kept to his old routes, still sleeping in taverns when he could afford it, but after a while a new song began to follow him from place to place. Bards with reedy voices would sing it in the evenings, lovers would spill it into each others’ ears.</p><p class="p2">
  <em>I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…</em>
</p><p class="p2">Geralt could still recognise Jaskier’s work anywhere. He stopped sleeping in taverns. He stayed to the woods instead.</p><p class="p2">He walked, and walked, and waited for winter. In winter, he could go home, to be with the other witchers. He could sit in the dark and turn to stone, slowly, and no one would turn their purple gaze on him. No one would bleed their feelings into him. No one would need anything from him at all.</p><p class="p2">But Roach needed him, for now. And while he wanted to be nothing but a weapon, she wanted better food to eat. Grass had been thin on the ground for the last few towns they’d passed through, and so finally, with great reluctance, Geralt turned into a village, and put Roach up in the stables for the night.</p><p class="p2">He didn’t want a room for himself, but being so close to the tavern, he found he did want an ale.He passed off Road to the stableboy, and then rounded the corner and opened the doors.</p><p class="p2">And smelled Jaskier.</p><p class="p2">Geralt froze in the doorway, scanning the room. He had been out in the woods for so long, his sense of smell was heightened. He hadn’t expected to recognise Jaskier’s scent, but there it was - sweat and jasmine and polished wood. But as Geralt looked around the tavern, the bard was nowhere to be seen.</p><p class="p2">He entered, slowly, aware now that those sitting by the door had turned to look at him curiously. He sat down in a corner of the tavern, and focused on the scent. Jaskier was here. He could tell. Or— Geralt’s head snapped up. Someone in this room smelled <em>like </em>Jaskier. Someone had been with him.</p><p class="p2">Geralt levelled his gaze at the room again. He hadn’t been avoiding Jaskier intentionally, but the thought of running into him - or someone who had been with him recently - made Geralt’s heart rate increase in a way he couldn’t parse.</p><p class="p2">His eyes landed on two women at the bar. They were tall, and remarkably lovely - they stood out as if in full colour against the greyscale of the other patrons. One was raven-haired and red-lipped, the other was blue-eyed and fair. She was speaking.</p><p class="p2">“—still upstairs. He’s getting a little worn out, poor thing. I wanted to take him again, but I felt bored suddenly - so bored! I thought I’d come have a drink before we continue.”</p><p class="p2">The raven-haired one laughed. “He’s tired - already? I thought the bard was meant to have some stamina - it seems his prowess has been exaggerated.”</p><p class="p2">“Well, we’ll make what we can of him. There are more bards out there - maybe we’ll find another with more staying power, once this one…expires.”</p><p class="p2">Geralt leaned in. He knew they were speaking of Jaskier, now - he could tell the scent was coming from them, they stank of him. But the <em>way </em>they were talking…he looked them over again, took in their height, their silent strength, their uncanny beauty.</p><p class="p2">The realisation arrived slowly, but when it arrived, he felt it cold in his chest. They were succubi.</p><p class="p2">And if Jaskier was upstairs - then he didn’t have much time.</p><p class="p2">Geralt moved quickly. Keeping to the shadows, he moved around the edges of the room, past the bar where the succubi were still drinking and laughing, until he reached the back of the tavern. Keeping his eyes on the room - and the barkeep, whose eyes were fixed on the succubi in awe - Geralt backed quickly up the stairs, not stopping until he reached the next floor.</p><p class="p2">The hallway was lined with doors, but Geralt, his adrenaline high, could smell Jaskier now. He pounded down the hall and kicked at the third door on the right. It swung open, and he saw him.</p><p class="p2">He was lying on the bed, stripped to his smallclothes. His wrists were bound and suspended above him, his face drawn and grey.At the door’s opening he looked up, slowly, his eyes half-lidded, then his face became blank with shock. “Geralt?”</p><p class="p2">“Jaskier,” Geralt half-breathed. He pushed through the door and into the room, kneeling urgently by the bed. In one smooth motion he cut the rope binding Jaskier’s hands, and caught the bard as he collapsed, exhausted. Jaskier was so pale, his heartbeat so weak Geralt struggled to find it at all. He was bleeding, Geralt saw now - there were deep marks where sharp fingernails had raked his soft skin and bruises were blooming across his neck and collarbone. Geralt felt frantic, his thoughts jumbled and furious. They had <em>hurt </em>him, these women, they had hurt <em>Jaskier</em>, and he would make them pay—</p><p class="p2">“Geralt,” Jaskier said again. His voice was barely more than a croak. Slowly, as if it caused him pain, he lifted his rope-burned wrist and pressed his palm gently against Geralt’s face. “Focus.”</p><p class="p2">And Geralt felt it then, flowing from Jaskier. His swirling thoughts narrowed, til he could think clearly of just this moment - his bard, broken in front of him, and the threat still lurking downstairs. He met Jaskier’s gaze, steadily. “Can you stand?”</p><p class="p2">Jaskier shook his head, wincing like the movement caused him pain. “Not—strong enough.”</p><p class="p2">Geralt nodded. “I’ve got you, then.”</p><p class="p2">He bent to pick Jaskier up, but as he did so, he heard footsteps on the stairs. They were talking to each other, their tinkling laughter echoing up the hallway. Geralt froze, then pivoted slowly, positioning Jaskier behind him. Jaskier shifted forward to his knees and kept a hand on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt felt the steady, calming presence continue to fill his veins.</p><p class="p2">He ran the first one through with his sword before she had fully opened the door. She cried out, in shock more than pain, and her knees buckled. She was dead before she hit the floor.</p><p class="p2">The other succubus was quicker, though. She watched her sister fall, and let out a great howl, her face twisting in rage. Before Geralt could pull his sword from the first’s chest, she whipped out a slender knife, and slashed at him, forcing him to dodge to the side. She kept moving, faster than he’d thought possible, and as Geralt spun to face her, sword drawn, she was already at the bed, her knife pressed against Jaskier’s throat.</p><p class="p2">“Sword down, Witcher,” she spat. “Or he’s dead.”</p><p class="p2">Geralt felt his stomach drop. He moved to lower his sword, anything to get the knife away from Jaskier’s throat. But before he could do it, something strange began to happen.</p><p class="p2">The succubus’ face, which had been contorted with hate, suddenly smoothed, then went white. Her eyes flew wide, and her mouth opened, hollow. She gasped aloud, and stumbled back, before falling to her knees, letting her knife clatter to the ground as she went. It took Geralt a second to understand what was happening. Nothing had changed, and yet her face was a mask of fear.</p><p class="p2">And then he saw Jaskier, who was leaning over the bed, one hand pressed hard against the succubus’ side. His face was still pale, but it had hardened. His eyes were fixed, determined, on the succubus, his other hand fisted in the sheets of the bed, knuckles white. He looked up at Geralt, and for a moment he was almost unrecognisable. “Geralt,” he rasped. “Do it.”</p><p class="p2">The succubus was gibbering on the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head. But her knife was still close to hand, and Geralt knew Jaskier couldn’t keep this up much longer. He swung his sword.He watched her head roll across the floor. He straightened up, just in time to watch Jaskier crumple into a heap, unconscious.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jaskier lay beneath the white sheets, his breathing slow. Geralt could not take his eyes from him. He was determined to stay there, counting Jaskier’s each breath, until the bard awoke.</p><p class="p1">Triss pushed her way through the door then, breaking his reverie. “Geralt,” she said, her voice kind. “You should rest.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt ignored her, his eyes still fixed on Jaskier.</p><p class="p1">Triss came to sit at his side. She leaned gently against him, her body warm. “He won’t wake for a while, yet.I enchanted his sleep. He needs to rest, Geralt. He’s been through a great trial.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt nodded.</p><p class="p1">“As have you, you know,” she said, her tone light. “You must have ridden through the night to bring him here. You ought to sleep."</p><p class="p1">“Can’t,” Geralt grunted, and Triss looked at him with such understanding he felt his face grow warm.</p><p class="p1">Sensing his discomfort, she turned to look at Jaskier too. “His power is strong, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how you failed to notice it, all those years.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt was quiet, though he had wondered the same many times.</p><p class="p1">“I think he hides it,” Triss said, moving to adjust her skirts slightly. “When he’s conscious, I mean. He masks it somehow, or else I would have sensed it immediately when we met.” She tilted her head, her tone wondering. “To feel it now, without the mask - it is remarkable. I haven’t felt this much chaos from someone since…” here she paused, and glanced at Geralt.</p><p class="p1">“Since Yennefer,” he finished, wearily. “I know it.”</p><p class="p1">Triss nodded. “He is untrained, but powerful. He is fortunate, too - to tangle with not one, but two succubi - he is lucky to be alive.”</p><p class="p1">Geralt felt suddenly cold. He didn’t want to think about that. He had seen the effects of a succubus attack before, in both men and women. The lucky ones died, worn out from the succubus’ enchanted exertions, their hearts failing even as they howled in joy. The unlucky lived on, but drained of all their life force. They were left as shells, vacant-eyed, waiting for their bodies to slowly starve. To think of Jaskier’s blue eyes, emptied of all that flickered behind them…</p><p class="p1">Triss broke into his thoughts again, by pressing a small vial into his hand. “Drink this, and lie down. Sleep, Geralt. You will be here still, when he wakes.” She kissed his cheek gently, then stood, skirts rustling, and moved from the room.</p><p class="p1">But Geralt sat up, for a long time, staring into the bard’s face, waiting for those blue eyes to open again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Close Enough to Death to Feel Brave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Jask, you could have been killed.”</p><p>“Yeah, but what a way to go, eh?” Jaskier gave him a weak smile. “There’s a song in it, you’ve got to admit.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t laugh. He kept holding Jaskier’s hands, looked him right in the eyes. “I would never have left you there, Jask.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt awoke in a cold sweat. The light was slanting through the window, bright in his face. He looked down, and right into Jaskier’s blue-eyed gaze.</p><p>Jaskier was sitting very still, and there was something so sad in his expression it took Geralt by surprise. As their eyes met, he watched Jaskier’s face carefully shutter, his expression fading, and that made Geralt’s chest ache in a way that surprised him more.</p><p>“You were having a nightmare,” Jaskier said, his voice still hoarse.</p><p>Geralt stared at him. “You’re awake,” he replied, dumbly.</p><p>There was a pause, and then they both began to speak at once.</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“I should say—”</p><p>They fell silent again, in unison, and Jaskier looked down at his hands for a long moment, a mottled flush creeping up his neck. “I’m sorry, Geralt,” he said at last. Geralt, bewildered, tried to interrupt, but Jaskier barrelled on. “I know you wanted me gone, and I’ve been trying to honour that — and I didn’t mean to go and land you in more shit, I swear it. Honestly—” his face was bright red now, his hands twisting in the sheets, “honestly, I’m glad you saved me, but I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d left me there. You’ve done enough for me, Geralt, and all I’ve done is land us both in trouble, and— and— and break your trust when you needed me, and— and I’m so sorry that the first time you see me again I’m just back to being <em>useless</em>…” he faltered, choking up. Geralt was horrified to see tears begin to form in his eyes, though Jaskier was frantically trying to blink them away.</p><p>Geralt reached out, then, before he could stop himself, and grabbed at Jaskier’s hands where they were twisted in the sheets. “Jask,” he said, and he didn’t have the words for this but he had to try, “Jask, <em>I’m</em> sorry. I— I shouldn’t have asked you to go. I didn’t mean it.”</p><p>Jaskier blinked up at him, his eyes pools of blue. “Yes, you did. I felt it.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt gripped Jaskier’s hands tighter, searching for his next words. “Yes, I think I did mean it, then. I was angry. I was— Yen was gone, and I wanted to take it out on someone, and you were just <em>there</em>. I didn’t—” he took a deep breath, “I didn’t think you’d really go. And when I saw you, yesterday, in that room, I—” he broke off, his throat closing at the memory. “Jask, you could have been <em>killed</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, but what a way to go, eh?” Jaskier gave him a weak smile. “There’s a song in it, you’ve got to admit.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t laugh. He kept holding Jaskier’s hands, looked him right in the eyes. “I would never have left you there, Jask.”</p><p>“Okay, then.” Jaskier smiled, a real smile now, and something about him seemed to soften, some imperceptible weight he’d been carrying lifted. “I believe you.” His gaze flickered then, down to Geralt’s lips and back up, and his eyes darkened. “And, well, while I’m still close enough to death to feel brave—”</p><p>And he lifted one hand from the sheets, and raised it to cup Geralt’s cheek - and before Geralt could take a breath, Jaskier leaned in, and kissed him.</p><p>His lips were soft, and gentle, as if asking a question. And Geralt thought <em>hm</em>, and then <em>oh</em>, and then he was leaning in too, lifting both hands to hold Jaskier by the back of the neck and shifting his weight to bring them closer. Jaskier parted his lips with a gasp and made a little <em>noise</em> in the back of his throat, and Geralt heard himself growl. He shifted forward until he was kneeling over Jaskier and then pressed him back into the headboard, not breaking the kiss until he felt Jaskier’s hands begin to flutter against his shoulders.</p><p>“Shit,” he said, leaning back, watching Jaskier gasp for air. “Sorry.”</p><p>Jaskier broke into a laugh that was more like a wheeze. “Oh you absolute idiot, only you would apologise for a kiss like that, <em>fuck</em>, Geralt—” and he pulled him back in with both hands, greedily.</p><p>When they resurfaced a second time, bodies pressed closer, faces flushed, Geralt heard Jaskier’s heart thrumming like a hummingbird and suddenly remembered what Triss had said about <em>rest</em>— “fuck,” he said, looking down at Jaskier frantically, “are you alright?”</p><p>But Jaskier just smiled back at him, cheeks pink, lips kiss-stung. “I am better than alright,” he said, eyes hazy like he was composing a song. “I am completely in love with you, Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>It must have been the words, that did it. <em>I am completely in love with you</em>. Because one moment Geralt was there, fingers still curled in the soft hair at the back of Jaskier’s neck, and the next he was sitting on the cold stone floor of Kaer Morhen, and watching Vesemir stalk back and forth in front of him.</p><p>
  <em>If you should find yourself feeling love, you will know it is a deception. Do not give into it.</em>
</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>Jaskier was looking up at him, eyes bright with concern.</p><p>Jaskier, who knew him down to his very bones.</p><p>Jaskier, the man he’d maybe always loved.</p><p>Jaskier, the sorcerer, who carried emotions in the palms of his hands.</p><p>Whose hands were still cupping Geralt’s face.</p><p>Geralt felt the doubt and the fear slide down his spine like cold water. And he watched Jaskier feel it too, watched his eyes widen in confusion. “Geralt?”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt didn’t want to ask him. He wanted it to be real. And yet—</p><p>
  <em>For a Witcher, love is another word for death.</em>
</p><p>“Jaskier.” He took a deep breath. “Are you using your powers on me?”</p><p>Jaskier dropped his hands from Geralt’s face like it burned. “What did you say?”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt reached out again, but Jaskier was already moving. He swung back the blankets and was out of the bed in an instant, grabbing frantically at his clothes on the floor. “Jaskier, stop, I only asked—”</p><p>“Don’t.”  Jaskier whirled around to look at him, and his expression was like nothing Geralt had ever seen. His eyes were hot coals, hurt and anger twisting his face. “You don’t get to ask me a question like that.”</p><p>Geralt set his jaw. “I need to know, Jaskier. You’ve done it before.”</p><p>“On the <em>mountain</em>?” Jaskier spat. “That wasn’t this, Geralt. That was a friend trying to take away a friend’s pain - and I know, it was wrong, and it was a breach of trust and you didn’t ask for it, and I meant it when I said I was sorry. But I have never, never used it for something like this. I couldn’t.” He was practically snarling now, his eyes still bright with hurt. “I told you I loved you, Geralt, and I meant it. But whatever <em>feelings</em> that brought up for you are your own fucking problem.”</p><p>Geralt felt his stomach drop, felt something in the air shifting beyond repair. “Jask—”</p><p>“Save it.” Jaskier had his bag on his back now, was reaching out to pick up his lute. “I’m not letting you blame me for this. I’ve followed you across the continent forgiving you for the better part of my life, and I won’t do it anymore.” He stood by the door, the light blazing in his eyes. “I love you, Geralt. And you love me too. But I’m done waiting around for you to figure that out.”</p><p>And then the door was shut. And he was gone. And Geralt was alone, with his heart sinking like a stone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. When the Fighting Starts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier had been walking for days. He ached down to his bones, and he knew the weariness ran deeper than that. His feet were blistered, his joints were bruised, but he had to keep moving. As long as he kept moving, he wasn’t thinking. And it was the thinking that was the problem.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Triss swept into the room while Geralt was still sitting on the bed, stunned. “I saw the bard leave,” she said, breathlessly. “He seemed upset - I couldn’t convince him to stay, so I sent him on the northern path. Geralt, what happened?”</p><p>Geralt felt his mind finally catching up with him. He stood, suddenly filled with urgency. “I have to go after him.”</p><p>But Triss placed a hand on his forearm. “You can’t.” Her voice was firm. “Nilfgaard’s army is advancing, Geralt. They’re poised to take Cintra.”</p><p>“That’s impossible.” Geralt shook his head. “Calanthe would die first.”</p><p>“She will.” Triss stared up at him, her gaze burning. “Nilfgaard is more of a threat than any of us reckoned with, Geralt. They have a mage on their side - one of the most powerful I’ve ever seen. Cintra will fall. If you are to protect your child surprise, you need to leave now.”</p><p>Geralt stood at the threshold, Triss still gripping his arm. Out on the road, Jaskier was already moving away from him, carrying new wounds Geralt had inflicted. But he had responsibilities. He had a child to protect from a war he couldn’t reckon with. “Alright, then,” he growled, his heart sinking further. “To Cintra.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had been walking for days. He ached down to his bones, and he knew the weariness ran deeper than that. His feet were blistered, his joints were bruised, but he had to keep moving. As long as he kept moving, he wasn’t thinking. And it was the thinking that was the problem.</p><p>
  <em>The taste of Geralt’s lips on his. The warmth in his chest from Geralt’s own joy. The look of fear and doubt in Geralt’s eyes.</em>
</p><p>His weariness ran deep indeed. But thanks to Triss, at least he knew where he was headed. For the first time in a long time, he had a direction. </p><p>He reached the town before nightfall. The people in the tavern were subdued, suspicious. Jaskier did not reach for his lute. He ordered an ale and asked the barkeep the question he had come to ask. He tried to ignore the way the man’s emotions lit up with fear as he answered. </p><p>He spent a night in the tavern, and in the morning moved further through the town, in the direction the barkeep had pointed him. The townsfolk barely glanced at him. Their fear and resignation weighed him down as he walked. Nilfgaard was moving closer, and they were no match for an army.</p><p>But Jaskier didn’t have time for fear. There was someone he needed to find.</p><p>He stumbled across the door, set unobtrusively around the corner from the square. He knocked, the way Triss had shown him. He stepped into the parlour, past the curious maid, and breathed in the scent of lilac and gooseberries.</p><p>“You’ve been asking for me, bard.”</p><p>He spun. She was seated on a low couch, clad in dark robes. Her purple eyes were alight with curiosity.</p><p>“Yennefer.” Jaskier smiled. “I need your help.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Geralt watched Ciri’s face in the flickering firelight. She was peaceful in sleep, the anxiety that usually danced across her features at rest. They’d been travelling together more than a month now, and her young face was rarely this calm.</p><p>Geralt felt a swell of protectiveness as he watched her. He had never known someone as brave as her, or with a mind that moved as quickly, always asking questions, always skipping from one thought to the next.</p><p>Well. He’d known one other person like that - but that wasn’t helpful to think about right now.<br/><br/>As he sat watching, Ciri opened her eyes and yawned. She caught his eye, and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you watching me sleep, again? That’s a little creepy.”</p><p>Geralt snorted. “Smartass.” He kicked the water skin across to her. “You can fill that, if you’re so full of energy.” He jerked his head towards the river.</p><p>Ciri rolled her eyes, but she grabbed the skin and stood, stomping off through the undergrowth.</p><p>She’d been gone less than five minutes when Geralt heard her scream.</p><p>He didn’t think. He just moved. He crashed through the bushes . When he burst into the clearing, he saw Ciri standing in the centre of the river, untouched. And the bodies were strewn across the banks, more meat than man. </p><p>Geralt stepped slowly through the water towards her, took her in his arms. She was shaking. “They— they tried to—”</p><p>“Shh.” Geralt held her close, smoothed a hand across her hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”</p><p>Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of colour. A boy, his dark eyes wide, stood staring at them from a gap in the trees. </p><p>Geralt put a hand out. “Hey,” he called, steadily. “Hey, easy now. We won’t hurt you.” </p><p>But the boy startled, then turned tail and ran, back towards the village.</p><p>Geralt sighed through his nose. “Fuck.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ciri sobbed.</p><p>“No,” Geralt turned, pressed his forehead to hers. “No, Ciri. You were protecting yourself. Don’t apologise for that, ever.” He glanced up, in the direction the boy had run. “But we need to go now, okay?”</p><p>She nodded. She let him lead, averting her eyes from the bodies as they passed.</p><p>They moved quickly, too fast to cover their tracks. The ground was too rough to ride Roach, so Geralt lead her behind them, picking their way carefully over roots and through stones. The forest was sparser than Geralt had anticipated. Just before dawn, they stepped unexpectedly into a clearing, and he realised his mistake just as he saw a line of people melt out of the trees before them.</p><p>The dark-eyed boy stood at the front, his chin lifted. “That’s them!” he called, his voice high and reedy. “That’s them I seen, at the river! That’s them that killed Pa!”</p><p>There was a roar from the villagers. Geralt stepped carefully backwards, moving Ciri behind him with one hand. The villagers were moving towards them now, their faces twisted in snarls. Geralt had seen mobs before. He’d fought them, and survived. But this wasn’t Blaviken, and this time he had Ciri to protect. </p><p>He allowed himself one quick look over his shoulder, to see her standing scared but determined behind him. “When the fighting starts,” he said, barely a whisper, “you run.”</p><p>And Ciri didn’t cry, or tremble. She lifted her chin and nodded.</p><p>Geralt turned back to the mob, who were hurling insults at them now. <em>Murderer. Witcher filth. Monster child. Butcher</em>. </p><p>He crouched, and reached a hand back to draw his swords. He readied himself to fight until he died, to give Ciri enough time to get away.</p><p>And then a ripple passed through the crowd, and the shouting died down to sudden silence. The villagers turned their rabid stares from Geralt and swivelled to look behind them.</p><p>“<em>Drop your weapons</em>,” a voice called, and though it must have been spoken aloud Geralt felt it in his bones. “<em>Your rage subsides</em>.”</p><p>The crowd before him dropped their stakes and swords with a great clatter. Geralt stared as the villagers’ eyes glazed over, their expressions becoming slack and confused.</p><p>They parted, then, like a great sea, and into the gap in the crowd walked a sorcerer. He wore a hood,  his face in shadow, but he stood tall and statuesque, dressed in robes of deep crimson. As he walked, he spread his arms wide, and Geralt felt his medallion vibrate with the power this man carried.</p><p>“<em>Go to your homes</em>,” the man’s voice came again, rumbling as if through the earth below them. “<em>Your anger dies</em>.” It was lyrical, melodic. “<em>You’ll sleep until you feel</em> <em>regret</em>." He moved slowly, as if through water. "<em>A</em><em>nd when you wake, you will forget.</em>”</p><p>As he spoke, the villagers around him, all at once, began to yawn and stretch and rub at their eyes. They leaned upon each other, and slowly began to turn and meander from the clearing. None of them so much as glanced at the sorcerer, or Geralt or Ciri, as they went. </p><p>Then they were gone, and the clearing was empty.  The sorcerer turned to face them.</p><p>Geralt heard Ciri’s heart still thumping behind him, and drew himself up to his full height, trying to hide her completely. He knew he was no match for a man who could halt a crowd like that in its tracks, but he was still prepared to die if it meant saving Ciri.</p><p>There was a long moment of silence. Then the sorcerer slowly raised his hands to his hood, and let it fall to his shoulders. And Geralt felt his heart leap, and stutter.</p><p>It was Jaskier.</p>
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